


come out and play

by ChasingRainbows



Series: a stickup of sorts [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Assassination Attempt(s), Gen, Gun Violence, Illegal Activities, Italian Mafia, Jenna has the only brain cell and knows it, Minor Violence, New Jersey branch, Organized Crime, Speakeasies, Swearing, author has never committed a crime other than jaywalking, does it count as underaged if they're aged up?, implied/referenced drinking, like about 26 or so?, still tries to write an organized crime au convincingly, the rest of the cast is coming in the next part, they're also older by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRainbows/pseuds/ChasingRainbows
Summary: One gunshot is all it takes to start a war.





	come out and play

**Author's Note:**

> hey people!!! here's my (late as hell, i am so sorry) piece for the bmc reverse bang!! this is short and rushed, but like i NEED to post this bc it's really late and i am so sorry. i have plans for this to be a three part series possibly? i don't know yet, i just have way too much plot left to cover and i'm way past my deadline oh god
> 
> also give this rad [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2hQt1UobgFXOCbu0JIkFiA?si=of8XrEukQ7epieyCyqrWgg) made by [queerclown](https://queerclown.tumblr.com/) a listen as you read, it's the inspiration for this whole mess!!
> 
> working title for this was "MAFIA BITCH" and later "oh my god sen just finish this already," official title is from come out and play by the offspring

If you're expecting moral ambiguity, you won't find it here.

If what you're searching for is some kind of hard-boiled assassin who justifies their work by killing only the scum of the earth, this is not your story. No, there are only kids here, trying to do right by their families, praying that they're doing right by themselves, too. 

It would be inaccurate to say that violence has been bred into them. They began as everyone begins: a clean block, waiting to be chipped at and carved into, shaped into whoever they would become. No, they were not born with violence in their hearts. Instead, it wormed its way into their beings, gnawed holes in their souls for the guilt to reside in.

They are kind, yes. But they are not merciful. Nor are they obligated or encouraged to be.

There is corruption here, beneath the many twinkling eyes of the city. Buried deep under layers and layers of average lives, lurking in the shadows behind. In the depths of everyone's minds, there lies a vague awareness of man's tendency towards chaos. Even the most naive with the sunniest of dispositions are acquainted with the slow decay of the city, the quiet rot overtaking it from the inside.

Judge for yourself the sins of the damned once you have lived in their world, walked in their shoes. When you have learned the inner workings of their brains, decide if they are to be blamed for the mistakes of their future.

***

Suffice it to say, the Valentines were  _ not _ pleased when news of the breakup reached them. Not that they had been pleased the past four times it had happened either, but this time, they were significantly less pleased than usual. In fact, Mr. Valentine made the executive decision that this whole "peace between families" business was an absolute waste of time and thus decided to throw whatever progress they'd made out of the nearest window.

"Don't worry, dear," he'd said with a smile that would send spiders crawling up your spine. "Daddy will take care of it."

Chloe Valentine was many things, but an idiot was not one of them. Of course she knew that  _ it _ meant Jake and the only things being taken care of would be his funeral arrangements.

What Chloe could have done here was protest, claim that it was really just too much effort for a boy who wasn't even worth the single speck of dirt on her shoe (not that she  _ had _ dirt on her shoes; everyone knows Valentines are immune to dirt) and that it was just another breakup. She and Jake would be back together by the month's end. This would have been an accurate prediction and the truth of it would surprise absolutely no one.

However, this particular breakup had been horrible, worse than usual in fact. It began with a snide comment and ended in a spectacular screaming match. Sure, Jake hadn't actually been cheating.  _ Yet _ . But she had eyes and a brain she actually deigned to use more than once a month. It was only  _ looking _ now, but soon it'd be  _ speaking _ and then it'd be  _ fucking. _

Bastard.

Did she want him dead? At the moment, the answer was a resounding  _ yes _ .

So Chloe said nothing. Simply let her father enfold her in his arms and pretended not to notice when Jimmy slipped from the room to shatter whatever tenuous peace existed between the Valentines and the Dillingers (and by extension, kill her ex).

They do say nothing is worse than a woman scorned.

***

Dustin Kropp was under strict orders to fail his mission.

Shake him up a little, that's all. Those were his instructions. Get in, scare him a bit, get out. Simple. Easy.

Bizarre as hell, but okay.

Why hire an  _ assassin _ and then tell them  _ not _ to kill the target? Didn't make a lick of sense. There wasn't any sort of logic to this mission. Shakedowns were generally left up to the thugs and whatnot, right? (Honestly, he didn't know. He was just guessing.) But truthfully, he wasn't complaining. The less people he had to actually kill, the better.

This was still a job. He was still getting paid. She would still be safe.

***

As it happens, there were many,  _ many _ opportunities to off Jake Dillinger.

One would think that, being the son of a family so heavily steeped in crime, he would be just a  _ bit _ more diligent about his safety. Perhaps he may even take certain precautions to protect himself and his family.

Jake was good at many things. Being the son of a mafia leader was not one of them.

Luckily for him, one of the few things he failed at happened to be one of Rich Goranski's few talents.

This seemed to be the running theme between the two, serving as a foil for each other in nearly every way. Jake was tall, so Rich was not. Jake would be hard-pressed to keep a rock alive, while Rich's presence alone seemed to encourage plants to stand just a bit taller. Rich was anxious to the point of paranoia (though he would insist he's just  _ careful _ ) and Jake seemed inclined to test how far he could push it before someone finally took him out.

In actuality, Jake simply didn't think of it. The thought remained on the back burner of his mind, yes, that someone someday could potentially try to kill him. That maybe they'd even succeed! But the back burner of his mind was indeed very,  _ very _ far back and hidden behind several boxes and odd bits and pieces called junk by the general populace. He wasn't an airhead; really, he was very smart. He just...had other things on his mind as well as an oddly unshakeable faith in humanity and his own invincibility.

It was common knowledge amongst the family that Jake would most likely  _ not _ be the one to take over as head once the current leader passed on to wherever the hell she was meant to go. It wasn't even a secret thought circled around the lower ranks and the more extended family anymore. Jake was the most likely to have a normal life (unless he married Chloe Valentine) and Rich would probably be left to run the family business. Any left rooting for Jake to be leader had quickly changed their minds once Rich began actively getting involved and proving his loyalty to the family repeatedly, while Jake took the more passive route. Who could be considered luckier in that regard would depend on the person asked.

Here is another place in which Jake differed wildly from Rich: luck.

Had Rich been the target, it would have been an actual assassination attempt, because he was who he was and that was just his luck. But, because it was Jake, the one time someone should have been sent to kill him also happened to be the one time an assassin was explicitly told  _ not _ to kill the target, even though he might want to just to prove a point.

Jake was also lucky Rich knew exactly how laughably easy it would be to kill him and tried to prevent it as subtly as possible. Rich had never been great at subtlety, though, and his attempts often resulted in yelling at Jake to stop standing with his back to open windows like he's asking for someone to come and shoot him, or not being aware of possible exit routes on the off chance a quick escape was necessary.

But it was the type of July night that brought every single bug out of hiding and made you feel as though you were boiling in your own skin. Not even God could stop Jake from sitting by the open window at this point. When the shot rang out, the only thing Jake could think was that Rich would absolutely never let him live this down. The second thing that registered was that Rich had tackled him to the ground. The third was that he was bleeding profusely from his left arm and didn't seem to realize it.

Jake decided to point this out, calmly so as not to startle the other man, since it seemed like something he should be aware of.

" _ Rich, your fucking arm!" _ he shrieked.

Calmly.

Rich glanced down at his arm. "Oh," he said, and promptly passed out.

See, if you're constantly worried about people shooting you (or someone you care about who takes every chance he gets to leave himself open), it still turns out to be an incredible shock when it really happens, even if you're not exactly  _ surprised. _ Rich spent a lot of time worrying about getting shot at and not a lot of time  _ actually _ getting shot at. One would think the situation would have occurred more often than it had, considering his family and line of work, but one would be wrong.

Other members of the family had come running the moment they heard gunshots and screaming. Jake had not stopped yelling since Rich had passed out and would continue to scream until someone helped him calm the fuck down, which would frankly take up a solid portion of the night and more than a little bit of patience. Because Jake had never seen anyone get shot before and, despite his family's (read: Rich's) constant nagging, had never really thought it would happen. His hands were coated in Rich's blood and Rich was unconscious and possibly dying and wow, this  _ really _ was not how he had expected tonight to go.

"What the fuck were you  _ thinking _ ," Jake asked quietly but frantically, not really expecting an answer.

Rich let out a low groan, in pain and half conscious, but alive. "You'd have lost your throwing arm."

Jake struggled against the sudden urge to throttle his best friend for saving his life.

Rich, of course, did not have the medical knowledge necessary to know this for sure. Neither did he have sufficient knowledge of possible future events. Had he been too far away to make any foolish, self-sacrificing decisions, he would have found that the bullet had merely grazed Jake's arm. He would have proceeded to fret and hover over Jake like a particularly anxious gnat well beyond the time it took the wound to heal. Jake would not have lost is throwing arm. Fortunately for Rich, neither would he.

He would, however, spend the next few weeks being an absolutely horrible patient who refused to rest, therefore taking even longer to recover. Rich was not a patient man and constantly needed to be  _ doing _ something, or risk insanity. He did not do well with being forced to "take it easy" and would be an utter nightmare until he was healed. Jake would do his best to keep him entertained, but ultimately, Rich would still behave like a caged tiger.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Though neither would ever know it, Dustin had actually been aiming at a spot on the wall across from where Jake was sitting because he thought it would be cooler, more believable. However, as his finger squeezed the trigger, a moth flew directly into his face, causing him to let out a startled squawk, jerk away, and miss completely. Jake's luck prevented Rich from getting shot in the head or the vitals, but Rich's luck ensured that the bullet still hit him. Dustin was not usually a crack shot, so he probably would have missed where he'd been aiming anyway, but he chose to blame the moth. Dustin had never looked less cool in his life.

***

Halfway across the city and about a month into the future, an archivist, a newsie, and a receptionist walked into a speakeasy.

Thanks to the prohibition, there was no longer anywhere else to go when one needed to get absolutely plastered, or even just slightly tipsy. And the archivist, Michael Mell, claimed to do all of his best work when tipsy. Whether or not this was true would be debatable, considering he did the majority of his work slightly tipsy. 

Not his work for his actual job, of course, but for his more important side job. See, Michael and his friends were plotting to take down the top two major mafia families in the city. Coincidentally, they had also come up with this idea during one of their drunken hangouts. Why this continued to seem like a good idea once they were sober is anybody's guess, but they had been gathering information for months now. Soon, they would put their plan into action.

To understand how these three incredibly average 20-somethings had managed to stumble their way into a scoop on the mafia, some background information is necessary. Michael Mell was an archivist at the First Middleborough Bank. This is relevant for the following reasons: 1) it lead Michael to hear an illicit conversation between a superior and a man who was certainly up to no good when he came back to the office to retrieve a forgotten coat (which remained forgotten, much to its chagrin) and 2) inspired and enabled him to uncover more about the bank's involvement with the mafia. Through his digging, he would learn that the man his superior had been talking to was one Richard "Peanuts" Goranski, a highly ranked member of the Dillinger household, and that he was indeed up to no good.

Jeremy Heere was average enough to be startling, the kind of average that would make you do a double take in a crowd only to find yourself unsure of what had caught your eye. This, coupled with his constant anxiety and desire to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, though he stood hardly an inch below six feet, rendered him nearly invisible in most cases. Such a talent was extremely useful for accidentally overhearing personal conversations, like the one he witnessed one fateful June afternoon between a cop, an editor, and a thug sent by the Valentine's. It was less useful for selling newspapers.

Jenna Rolan had received the blessing and curse known as womanhood. Between the straight male tendency to ignore the existence of a woman until it suited them, as well as Jenna's already superior observational skills, there was hardly a secret that could remain hidden from her for long. It gave her an odd sense of power, knowing what other people didn't as well as exactly what they didn't want known. And it was through these talents that she came to know exactly which cops were dirty and subsequently, who worked for which rival families.

Unfortunately, this was approximately 83% of the police department. Jenna worked directly in the hornet's nest. Over time, the team would uncover that a great deal more than one of Michael's coworkers were corrupt as well. Then they'd figure out that there was hardly a bank that wasn't in the mafia's pocket and hardly a reporter whose silence couldn't be bought. They'd find out that it extended beyond even that and into the political system (though this, of course, was less surprising than it should have been).

And so, the three decided to destroy the problem at its root - or rather,  _ roots _ : the Valentines and the Dillingers.

Ironically, a member of the Dillinger family was making a shady deal hardly a table away from them. On the other side of the bar, a member of the Valentine family was doing the exact same thing, while Dustin was getting shitfaced with a completely average accountant. This particular speakeasy had seen several shady conversations and deals in its time as it had been deemed neutral ground between the families. Michael and his friends knew none of this, though perhaps they would find out in the future.

Of course, the actual planning did not take place in the speakeasy. None of them were dumb enough to discuss top secret topics in public where anyone could hear them, especially since their voices tended to rise in both pitch and volume as they ingested more alcohol. No, their time in the speakeasy was for something much less serious: to relax after a long day at work before they got back down to the real nitty gritty shit. So after a few drinks, the team started getting ready to head out.

Fate had prompted the group to sit at a table far from the door to "change things up", which they should have found unusual since all of them despised not being near an exit, nor were they particularly fond of "changing things up." Regardless, all tables even remotely near the door were occupied, so they didn't actually have a choice.

He didn't notice him at first. Not until he was almost past him. But as the group passed, Michael accidentally locked eyes with the blue-eyed terror himself. Richard Goranski paused, seemingly mid-threat, the dangerous smirk on his lips faltering slightly. Michael looked away quickly, heart steeped in dread, but he felt Rich's gaze track him through the door. He tapped Jeremy's wrist twice and feverently whispered, "That's  _ him. _ "

Jeremy tried fiercely hard not to whip his head around and failed spectacularly. He scanned the crowd impatiently, trying to pick the guy out, but his gaze caught on something familiar. A jolt of terror shot through him at the sight of one of the Valentines' men, the one who he'd seen with his editor. He frantically tapped Michael's wrist and whispered back, "Michael, that's  _ him. _ "

Jenna had not been able to hear this exchange, partly because they spoke too quietly, but mostly because she had been distracted by the sight of three of her coworkers sitting with Chloe Valentine herself. She grabbed both of her companions by the wrists, dragging them closer and murmuring, "We need to get out of here  _ now. _ "

The boys were not about to disagree. As casually as they could, they pretended they hadn't seen anything shocking and strode through the door at a pace  _ just _ this side of too brisk. They continued this way until they were well away from the speakeasy. Jenna checked behind them every few paces to ensure they weren't being followed, glancing in reflective surfaces and occasionally over her shoulder. Just to be safe, they took a few unnecessary turns and loops in an effort to lose any tail they might have gained.

The little group breathed a collective sigh of relief once they had slammed and locked the door of Michael's apartment. Michael triple checked the windows while Jenna tried to coax Jeremy away from where he was wobbling dangerously on the edge of a panic attack. Once he was certain they were secure, Michael exploded in a burst of nervous energy, pacing around the room and frantically waving his arms around.

"Richard Goranski! I made eye contact with Richard  _ fucking  _ Goranski! I'm gonna die; Peanuts fucking Goranski is gonna find my apartment and murder me dead and then he's gonna find you guys because he saw us together and-"

"'Peanuts?'" Jeremy asked, because that was easier to focus on than their possible imminent deaths.

Michael nodded, eyes wide. "They say if you wrong him, he'll eat your nuts."

Jeremy's eyes widened with horror, thinking of his stash of almonds in the kitchen. "Not my nuts…"

"He was looking at you like he wanted to eat more than your nuts, Michael," Jenna commented drily.

"You think he eats your peanut butter, too?" Michael gasped. Jeremy shuddered.

"Not what I meant, but it doesn't matter," Jenna said. "We have other things to worry about. If he was there, and Chloe and one of her goons were there, too…"

The other two sobered quickly. "Something big must be coming," Jeremy finished.

"Yeah," Jenna replied. "I've been noticing that tensions have been getting higher at the station."

"Things are more active," Jeremy chimed in. "More alleyway meetings, more gunshots, homicides, coverups…"

"If we're going to do something, we need to do it soon," Jenna said.

Michael nodded. "War is coming."

**Author's Note:**

> okay so the reason this is in a slightly different style is because i've been reading too many good omens fics and it's kind of influencing my writing rn, i did not plan for this to be so chaotic. will it return to normal soon? i have no idea. also!!! special thanks to [ichorou](https://ichorou.tumblr.com/) for helping me brainstorm, being the best beta ever, and putting up with my shit!! ily!!
> 
> gonna post part 2 next week i think! hope you enjoyed!! i'm [bemorechillifries](https://bemorechillifries.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come scream!!


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